


New Blood

by Yoru_The_Rogue



Series: DC Yoru'verse TB AU: A Dark Crucible [3]
Category: The Batman (Cartoon), The Batman vs Dracula (2005)
Genre: AU shit, Canon-Blending, F/M, Gen, My OCs, Not Beta Read, Older Work, Oneshot, Personal Headcanon 'Verse, The DC Yoru-Verse, Use of ocs, hinted OCxCanon, my friends' OCs, reviews not needed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-05
Updated: 2013-06-05
Packaged: 2019-06-27 14:45:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15687522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yoru_The_Rogue/pseuds/Yoru_The_Rogue
Summary: The new "doctor" at Arkham Asylum isn't all he appears, Wraith is about to learn...





	New Blood

**Author's Note:**

> Fffsss. So forever ago a small handful of acquaintances in the TB fandom apparently started shipping my OC Guen/Wraith with Dracula, calling it Bloodbird shipping. I eventually broke down and figured I would write a oneshot based on the idea of them meeting. Never went anywhere with it after this, but who knows... I may yet get an idea for an actual fic for this...  
> Oh wait? What's that you say? Drac is dead in canon?  
> Canon can kiss my fist, I do what I want.

There was much to be heard about Arkham Asylum and its inmates from anyone who knew a good deal about it.  One of the more common warnings about Arkham was that you simply could _not_ reason with any of the inmates.  A typical wish of many Gothamites and a few others besides, was that eventually someone would do away with the more dangerous criminals housed there.  A wish for salvation.

A wish that would be granted by the true son of darkness.

It was a pity no one would ever know.

"S-sorry, Dr. Alucard," the orderly was practically stumbling over himself in an attempt to impress him, "but this really isn't something I'm used to dealing with.  W-we never get substitute doctors transferred in when one of our own professionals fall ill."

"Hmm, yes," he added a layer of false sympathy into his heavily accented voice, "I had heard as much when I was...informed of the transfer.  My condolences.  Hopefully the afflicted will, ah...recover soon."

He wouldn't.  The count had seen to that.

"If you don't mind my asking, Dr. Alucard," the orderly went on, tossing him a suspicious look, "why are you dressed like that?  We don't really—"

"That is no concern of yours," he quelled the young man sharply, giving the orderly's mind a harsh smack of pyschic indifference.  Steve blinked several times in confusion and shook his head, as though clearing his ears of some buzzing sound, before finally shrugging the mental squeeze away, forgetting the point he'd been trying to make about the substitute "doctor's" outfit.  He led the way through the asylum dutifully after that, barely using his foolish tongue to speak, and before long the count found himself standing before the head of the asylum himself, Doctor Hugo Strange.

"Ahh, come in, come in, Doctor...Alucard, was it?" Strange said slowly, his dark eyes skeptical behind his glasses.  The count paused, the corner of his mouth twitching downward.  Something about Strange was unusually observant and carefully guarded, setting his nerves on edge.  He would have to be cautious around the man.  He strode forward and merely nodded.  Strange raised an eyebrow.  "Interesting.  You are the temporary transfer for our own Dr. Bartholomew, I understand?"

"I am."

"Your accent is _most_ intriguing, Dr. Alucard.  Are you Romanian?"

" _You_ are most observant," he answered with a cold smile, inclining his head a fraction as he gave a ready lie.  "But not quite on the mark.  I'm Austrian."

"How interesting," Strange remarked, a smile working its way across his face as he rested his elbows on his desk, steepling his fingers together.  "Pardon my manners, Doctor.  Please, feel free to help yourself to the spare office in the meantime, and any other...facilities that our establishment has to offer you."

The count waited for a moment, trying to search the psychiatrist's face for some sign, some proof of what was nagging at him.

He found nothing immediately discernible, and smiled coldly.

"My thanks, Doctor Strange," he purred, spinning on his heel and striding from the office.  If the man knew, if he actually knew, then he had just given him free run of the asylum without even bothering with silly, acted pretenses.

Dracula's pointed fangs curved down over the swell of his lower lip as he smiled.

It was time to feed...

***

"Back in again, featherbrain?"

The winged girl spun violently in the grip of the guards, green eyes blazing.

"Up yours, clown!" she spat.

"Oh my, you _really_ need to get back on those tranquilizers, don't you?" Joker said innocently.  "You're simply a terror without them."

She muttered a string of low threats and curses out of the corner of her mouth as the guards pushed her along, her eyes darting left and right, picking out specific cells to see if her fellow inmates were still all present and accounted for.  Unsurprisingly, some were missing, and others were still there.  She suppressed a shudder and averted her eyes as they passed Victor Zsasz's cell, her wings rustling uneasily.  Thankfully, he didn't seem to be alert to her presence, which must have meant he had his mind on some other victim.

_Wonder which poor girl it is this time,_ she thought gloomily.  They had drawn closer to her own cell when she noticed something unusual.  Cell number 302 was vacant.

"Karlo's gone?  That's weird..."

"Move it, Pendragon!" the guard snapped, nudging her a little with his baton.  Normally Wraith would have responded vehemently to being treated like that, but she was too surprised by Basil Karlo's empty cell to do so.  Where was he?  The third Clayface had been brought back to Arkham about six months ago, when an encounter with Poison Ivy left him slightly screw-loose.  Despite her less-than-friendly feelings toward him, Wraith had grown accustomed to Karlo's presence in the asylum as a constant thing in an otherwise crazy world.  Whatever Ivy had done to him, he'd been mostly complacent since returning, and in all the times that she had escaped and been brought back here by Batman, Karlo had always been in his cell, quiet as could be.

_Was he moved?  Had he finished serving his time? Had something worse happened?_

She was returned to her cell, where she remained quiet for a few minutes more, until a voice in the cell next door spoke to her through the openings in their doors.

"Wondering what happened to Clayface, ghost-girl?"  The owner of the voice was a woman, and only vaguely familiar to Wraith.  She leaned up against the corner of the door, wishing she could stretch her ears to hear better.

"Yeah," she said slowly, "Who wants to know?"

"...Eva.  You're Lance Pendragon's little sister, right?  You smell like bird, like he said you would.  Your base human scent isn't too different from his though," the woman named Eva replied, and Wraith pondered for a moment, sifting through both her memories as Guen and herself.  She vaguely recalled Lance mentioning his werewolf friend before, but she hadn't ever thought she would actually meet Eva.  Still, she wasn't too interested in becoming "bosom buddies" with one of her older brother's friends at that moment, and tried to keep the conversation on her original focus.

"Glad to know the family resemblence is there," she remarked dryly.  "But you mentioned something about Karlo?"

"You mentioned him first," Eva countered, a question in her tone.

"Don't get the wrong idea," she said, lowering her voice, "Don't know him too well and I'm not sure I want to, but I'm used to seeing him here.  Something happen to 'im?"

"Which version do you want to hear?" the werewolf woman lowered _her_ voice even further, just above a whisper.  "The truth or the cover-up?"

"Both," she answered, feeling some would be rather proud of her for the vague answer.

"The cover-up story is that his state of sanity is being questioned again, so he's being moved to the custody of Blackgate until they can prove for sure he's crazy," Eva whispered, "The truth...the truth is a vampire got him."

"A vampire," Wraith muttered.  She wasn't sure what to think of that claim; she only knew of one vampire who had taken up root in Gotham and he was a dork that also hung out with her older brother, and had a chessboard-pattern fashion sense mixed with a lack of personal hygiene.  Rook could be stupid, certainly, but she had never known him to feed off humans.  Perhaps it was possible that there were still other vampires hanging around, but after what happened to the last coven, the notion sounded almost ridiculous.

"Believe what you want," Eva said in a dismissive voice that indicated she was shrugging.  "I told you both.  If you don't want to believe the truth, that's on your head.  Just keep on the alert; it's still here in the asylum.  I can smell the damned thing.  It's got this rank odor, like stale grave dirt and rotting flesh."

Wraith said nothing, but retreated from the door and went to sit on the cot in her cell.

_Ugh, gotta do some thinking and clear my head..._

***

She wasn't sure how much time had passed, but she jolted awake from her nap with the nasty suspicion that several hours had flown by, probably to the point she'd slept through the entire day and the afternoon.  She wasn't sure either, what had caused her to wake, when she heard the sound again.  The soft, subtle scraping of a key in a lock.  So that was what had jolted her awake!  But it was nighttime,  and probably past lights-out, so what would one of the doctors be sending an orderly to fetch her for?  Immediately her body tensed, raptor senses on high alert and ready to fight for her life.  When the orderly opened his door, he had a peculiar, slightly glazed look in his eyes, and it did nothing for her nerves.

"Miss Pendragon?" he asked, slurring a little as he spoke, and only then did she relax a fraction.  The idiot was probably drunk and working after hours.  She chewed the inside of her lip, pondering on the matter.  If that was the case and the guy thought he was supposed to be escorting her somewhere on superior orders, then she could easily use the opportunity to escape again.  She put on her most innocent face, ready to play along.

"Yes?" Wraith asked sweetly, clasping her hands behind her back.

"Come with me," he murmured, his gaze unfocused, and he turned, staggering.  In the back of her head, Wraith sensed an uneasy, concerned twinge from her other personality.  Guen was worried, afraid that if they took advantage of Steve's current state to break out again, that the poor orderly would lose his job for it.  Wraith scrunched her nose in distaste.

_You actually care enough about a freaking orderly to remember his name??  You're way too soft-hearted, Pendragon._

Guen's mental voice fell silent, and Wraith put the brief interaction out of her thoughts as she followed the guy--Steve by name, apparently--down the halls of the asylum.  A few of the other inmates glanced up as they walked past, and she could sense their growing tension and suspicion at the odd sight.  Instinct had her wings puffing up, feathers rustling in the dark stillness of Arkham as chills crept up and down her spine.  Steve led her down the halls to the rooms used for therapy sessions, finally stopping before one room she was unfamiliar with and opening the door.  It swung inward on creaky hinges, revealing a cramped room beyond in which a silhouetted figure stood, his back to them.

"Miss Pendragon, as you requested, doctor," Steve mumbled sleepily.

"Excellent," the figure responded with a voice marked by a rich accent, "You may leave us."

"Whoa, hey wait!  What?" Wraith squawked as she was shoved forward, the door slamming soundly behind her and the tumblers in the locks clicking into place.  She balled her fists, ready for a fight, when the man turned to face her, calm as could be.  He had an elegant face, the sort that should have been carved into a marble sculpture, with neatly-kept black hair, pale skin, and startlingly bright blue eyes above a sloping nose.

"Miss Pendragon," he purred in that rich, deep voice, "It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.  Please, forgive the lateness of the hour; I am afraid I'm still on European time.  I am Alucard, Doctor Alucard."

She arched an eyebrow in suspicion and crossed her arms, slowly stepping around to sit in the seat on her side of the table.  The man didn't move, but a muscle twitched in his jaw to indicate he was trying not to smile as he took the seat opposite her.  After a moment or two of silence had passed, he finally produced a pen and a clipboard in his hands, raising his eyebrows in a pleasant way that indicated comfort and intrigue.  Wraith blinked, stunned, unsure of where the clipboard and pen had appeared from; she'd seen no sign of them before.  Irritated, she crossed her arms and stuck out her lower lip.

"Miss Pendragon's a little shy right now," she retorted quietly, "But you can talk to me, _Doctor Alucard_.  Call me Wraith."

"What a fascinating young lady." He spoke again in a low tone, that thick accent enriching his speech rather than slurring it.  "I am unaccustomed to most people having knowledge of what a wraith is, and...how it differs from other spirits."

Her eyebrows shot up.  What in the name of all things holy was going on here?

"You know about spirits?" she asked slowly, and Alucard rested his elbows on the table, lacing his fingers together and resting his chin on them as he leaned forward, blue eyes studying her intently.

"I will admit to having no small amount of knowledge about the different spirits in the world, Miss Pendragon.  They are one of the many areas of study that I find useful."

"Okay...weird," she said, pulling a face before adding, "And it's Wraith."

"Of course, of course," he agreed soothingly, making an imperceptible nod.  "Does that frustrate you often?"

"What, having to correct people when they mistake me for Guen?" she asked.

"I meant not having anyone to share all of your doubtless intriguing thoughts and interests with."

She made another face, her wings shifting restlessly.  "You're a little bizarre, doctor.  No offense, but it sounds like you've got a few bats in the belfry yourself."

"Trust me, Miss Wraith, you have no idea," he purred.  He leaned further back in his chair, falling into shadow, and all she could see for a moment were those bright, ice-blue eyes.  She frowned, utterly lost, but after a few moments, concluded the best idea was probably to apologize for the remark in the event he was more upset than he let on.

"Sorry," she muttered. "That was uncalled for."

"Perhaps," he agreed, and this time she could make out the gleam of brilliant white teeth flashing in the shadows, "But I am unused to having such vibrant conversation.  Your sharp tongue is refreshing."

She squinted, attempting to better see him, and frowned deeper.  She'd barely said much of anything to him.  How would he know anything about her having a sharp tongue?  Of course, he could have just read her file, but a nagging feeling in her gut said he hadn't.

"You're a bit of an unorthodox shrink, Doctor Alucard..." she remarked, allowing a note of her suspicion to creep into her voice, and his teeth flashed in the dark, stretching his smirk into a grin.

"Ahh, I do suppose I have to get along to that part of it, don't I?"

"Excuse me?"

"Nothing, nothing," he said quickly, raising the pen and clipboard that he had hefted earlier, "Simply that we should, perhaps, take a few moments to become better acquainted with one another.  That being said..." He paused and flipped over the cover of a manilla folder that she was also sure hadn't been on the long table minutes ago.  Those blue eyes flicked over a few pages before settling on her again, and when he spoke, he somehow sounded a bit more relaxed and natural, like a professional psychiatrist ought to.  "You have two half-brothers?"

"Yeah," she snorted, "I'm a lovechild, doctor.  My mother had an affair with a widower, so I've got a paternal half-brother _and_ a maternal half-brother.  Big deal!"

"For most young children, that would be.  What about your father?"

"He died before I really had a chance to know him.  So what?"

"You mean, before your original personality got a chance to know him," he countered smoothly, arching an eyebrow.  Wraith froze, the pit of her stomach squirming uncomfortably.  She hadn't realized quite the extent of what she had said until then.

"Y-yeah, that's what I meant.  Same difference anyway!  I didn't split apart from Guen until after we turned nineteen."

"Hmm..." he remarked, his expression passive as he watched her.  "Miss Wraith.  Have you ever given consideration to the likelihood that one day Guen might...re-absorb you into herself?  That one day she may no longer have need of you and you might fade away like so much mist?"

She frowned at him, raising a skeptical eyebrow.  "If we merge back together, Doctor Alucard, I'm going to count that as a good thing.  It'll mean that I'll become part of Guen again, because I won't have to be the sole protector to defend her from her nightmares."

"And she has nightmares often?"

"Too often.  One of them walks and talks around Gotham all the time."

"Have you ever considered, Miss Wraith," he purred, a strange glint in those ice-blue eyes, "that you might possibly instead absorb Miss Guenhivyre?"

Wraith jumped in her seat, shocked.  She had indeed, considered that possibility, and it was one that frightened her, though she was never sure why that was.  Her wings began to puff up with suspicious fright; what the heck was up with this guy?  Her intuition was telling her it was nothing good, and she trusted her gut.

"Y-yeah..." she replied, "It's not exactly a pleasant idea, thanks."

"And why not?  With your potential, unfettered, you could practically run this city from within the shadows, untouchable by anyone."

She raised her eyebrows sharply, her back muscles tensing as her hands itched to reach for a scythe that was locked up in some storage room.  Her heartbeat sped up, conflicting with her attempts to focus and keep a cool head.  That sounded nothing like any of the typical shrink babble.  Only Strange ever said anything remotely like that, but not even he ever tried suggesting that she could rule Gotham with her abilities.  She shot to her feet, slamming her hands down on the surface of the table, and leaned forward, sneering at him.

"Who are you _really_?  Don't feed me any bullcrap, 'doctor.'  If you really are a shrink, you're more screwed up than Spellbinder, and trust me, I've fought the guy."

He smiled in that way his lips curled up and back, but his eyes glittered dangerously.

_Wraith, you're pushing one thin line!_ Guen snapped at her mentally, vexed.

_Zip it and let me handle this, Pendragon!_  She retorted.

"Perhaps you are not quite as egotistical as most of your fellow inmates," he intoned, his rich accent washing over her.  "Most of them would not have hesitated to agree with me.  Or perhaps you're simply a bit more observant in your paranoia."

"HA!   So you're _not_ a shrink!"

"Hardly."

"Then what are you?"

"Someone whom you could count as an ally," he responded, displaying all of his teeth as he spoke, "if you tread wisely."

She watched as he spoke, her eyes falling on his canines, recognizing those teeth were far too long and sharp for any normal human being.  Her mind jumped to Eva's earlier warning about a vampire lingering around Arkham, and her blood turned to ice.

_Looks like I found the blood-sucker._  she thought dryly, before one more fact slapped her in the face, unbidden.  His name.

Alucard.

Spelled backwards, it read...

"Dracula,"  she spoke aloud, removing her hands from the table.  "Oh, you've _got_ to be kidding me."

_Dracula?  THE Count Vlad Tepes Dracula?_ Guen questioned in the back of her head.   _The original vampire king?  Oh!  Oh, Wraith, you should let ME talk to him!_

_Not a chance, ya big schoolgirl!_ she shot back.

"It is always a pleasure to know that so many humans remember my legacy," he said, rising fluidly from the chair and appearing at her side so fast she was positive he could teleport.  "It is tragic however, that most of them wish to deny the truth behind the legend."

"Basil Karlo," she said cautiously, "You did this to Karlo too, didn't you?  You sucked him dry, and now I'm your next meal."

"Mister Karlo and I had a bit of a...disagreement," Dracula answered calmly.  "I disliked the taste of his blood.  Too thick, too muddled by the remaining strains of his mutation.  Perhaps that was a good thing, however; he seems to be recovering without consequence and his mutation seems to prevent my vampirism from overriding him."

"Really?" she asked, more to keep him talking for as long as possible than out of any real interest in knowing how Karlo was doing.  She took a few steps backward, away from him, heart pounding.

"Did you think it was merely a coincidence that Doctor Bartholomew fell ill so shortly before my arrival?" he challenged.  "He is making a fine chalice in the meantime, offering up small amounts of his blood along with the information I need in order to make my stay here more...convincing."

"So what do you want with me?" she asked, dreading the answer.

"Originally I was curious to see what a sample of your blood would do to enhance my own powers, but...you intrigue me, Miss Wraith," he answered, the corner of his mouth tilting up in a smirk as his eyes bored into hers.  "I am interested in seeing what a potential partnership with such a robust young woman as yourself could yield."

She glared at him for a moment, not sure whether or not she could trust him.

The lights in the room flared red without warning, and loud alarm klaxons began wailing throughout the asylum.  She jumped, opening her wings and looking around in surprise, before tossing him a suspicious look.  Dracula hissed slightly at the lights, covering one of his ears with his hand.

"It would appear that our session will have to be put on hold," he muttered.

"Your loss!" she said, turning to the door.

"You won't get very far," he declared simply, "Not without me."

She turned and glared at him even more forcefully this time, her mind racing to weigh her options.  Dracula or not, she didn't trust this vampire farther than she could throw him, but she wanted to get out of the asylum, and this was the best chance she had at the moment.  Finally, she ground her teeth angrily and nodded.

"Alright, fang-boy.  I'll let you help me, but let's get this straight: I'm bustin' out of here, and after that I owe you nothing. You try to pull somethin' on me, and it's no more Miss Nice Girl, got it?"

"Of _course_ , Miss Pendragon," he answered smoothly.


End file.
